Designs in Paris
by louicorn
Summary: Santana Lopez is one of the world's best interior designers. And her latest project is in none other than the city of Love. Four-shot.
1. Chapter 1

If Santana Lopez were good at one thing, it was design. And bitching people out. But she considered the latter a hobby rather than a career. And what a career she had. As one of the top interior designers in the world, Santana had decorated houses and apartments in dozens of countries for the most fabulous, the most fashionable, the most famous, for the richest of the richest.

If her latest project were not in Paris, the most romantic city of them all, Santana would not have even rolled out of bed. Granted, she was looking at a paycheck in the millions, and, well, that had some sway. But most importantly, it was Paris, the city of Love. The buildings, the streets, the people breathed art. It was as if they couldn't help it; their culture had decided this life for them long ago. As for Santana, she adored the life behind the city. The weight of tradition, the taste of wine, and the slightest smell of pretension in the air melted her heart.

Thanks to her unbearably annoying yet admittedly useful assistant, one Rachel Berry, Santana landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, boarded a champagne-filled stretch limo, and arrived at her hotel with not a strand of hair out of place.

She only hoped the rest of the trip would be as successful.

See, her client had somewhat of a reputation. Some said he was a dying man, throwing away the last of his millions financing independent films, supporting up-and-coming artists, and donating to charity after charity. Some said she was daddy's little girl, a too-rich-for-her-own-good socialite trying to find a cause to support, acting as patron to the arts just to feel good about her spoiled little life. Others thought the person was, in fact, a corporation; it was the only way to explain these outrageous sums of money.

Santana herself had not one idea who her client was. All she knew was she had a magnificent country house to decorate, and her client had exquisite taste.

* * *

Only a week into installation, and Santana had fallen in love. She had decorated dozens of houses before this one, but this one was truly to die for. For one thing, her client was one of the wealthiest Santana had ever had, and the budget was to match. She had spent over $2 million furnishing just the first floor of the mansion, and there was still a long way to go. Needless to say, her client's representative, Ms. Fabray, signed off on every request, no matter the price. It seemed they honestly trusted Santana's vision, and how lovely it was to work for someone so understanding of an artist's passion.

Perhaps it was the endless budget or the mysterious billionaire client Santana wanted to impress, but she poured every sweat of her being into the project, becoming so attached to every detail, she wanted to live here herself. She was even rather sad that the house would be completed in three weeks, and she would once again be in New York, miles and miles from this masterpiece she had created in Paris.

When the day came to a close, she said goodbye to Ms. Fabray and dismissed Rachel and the movers. But she stayed out at the patio herself, watching the sky turn dark over a glass of fine French wine.

She hadn't felt so relaxed in years, and, right now, that itch to drop everything and just go was bigger than ever. Regardless of how much she loved her hectic career, these moments made her see a new life she could have—a quiet, wine-filled, Parisian life.

* * *

Santana jolted awake. She could still feel the wine swaying in her head. She had to stop drinking that stuff if it were going to send her to sleep all the time. The bottle she had opened was on the ground next to the lawn chair, drained of almost every drop. Mistakes. Santana made a lot of them. She yawned and straightened out her dress, then glanced at her watch. Almost ten o'clock. She had better return to her hotel.

Just as Santana picked up her bag, she heard a noise. A footstep perhaps? If Santana were sober, she would be wiser, but as she was not, she paused and waited for the sound again. There was definitely a noise coming from the garage. She followed the muted sounds she was hearing; they were getting louder the closer she got. Then, just as Santana peeked inside the dark garage, it was all quiet.

Santana turned to go, but she felt a poke at her shoulder, which set her off. "WHO'S THERE?" she screamed. "YOU NEED TO GET OFF THIS PROPERTY, OR I WILL CALL THE COPS!"

"Wait, calm down!"

Why would a trespasser in Paris be speaking perfect English? "Tell me who you are right now!" she yelled.

"Look, why don't we just talk this out—"

"You're avoiding the freaking question!" Santana scrambled along the walls of the pitch-black garage to find the light switch, struggling much more than she should. She had spent days designing this place for God's sake! When Santana finally felt the switch, she flipped it on and spun around to face the intruder.

The woman had her arms in the air. She tried to smile when she said, "Hi."

Baffled by whomever this blonde woman was, Santana once again asked, "Who _are_ you?"

"Well, I should be the one asking the question really." The woman's blue eyes twinkled. Her arms were still in the air.

"What? I could get you in jail for trespassing right now, lady."

"That…would be difficult."

"I don't know what they hell you're saying, but if you don't explain yourself right now, I will attack you."

"What? No!" The once friendly woman now frowned, but Santana noticed she still looked as friendly as a puppy dog. "Don't do that, please. What's your name?"

"What's _my_ name?" Santana looked up in disbelief. "I'm asking you!"

"I just don't normally like introducing myself—"

"God damn it, woman!"

"OK, OK! My name's Brittany."

"What the hell are you doing here Britt—"

"Brittany Pierce."

Santana froze. Then she took a deep breath and asked, under her breath, "Dr. Pierce?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Just call me Brittany." Brittany smiled sheepishly. "Doctor makes it sound like I save people's lives when I only went to a few extra years of school."

"You're Dr. Pierce?" Santana said more to herself than to Brittany. She looked up at Brittany again, unbelieving. "But you're so young."

"Well, not _that_ young." Brittany grinned.

"You're the gazillionaire?"

"Um." Brittany pinched her lips. "I'm not sure. I don't think gazillion is an actual amount."

"Jesus Christ." Santana put her hand to her forehead. "I don't believe this."

Brittany smiled knowingly again, as if people working for her harass her regularly. "What's so hard to believe?"

"You're just—you're so pretty," Santana blurted.

"Thank you," Brittany said with a laugh. "You're really pretty, too."

Santana almost fainted. Here she was, with the unbelievably rich arts benefactor, who also happened to be her client, who also happened to be blonde and drop dead gorgeous with the body of a Victoria's Secret model, and they were telling the other how pretty they were?

"So, are you going to tell me your name now?" Brittany's eyes twinkled again. How did she _do_ that?

"Santana." She cleared her throat. "Santana Lopez."

"Oh! _The_ Santana Lopez of Lopez Designs. What a pleasure."

"T-thank you."

"It's kind of late to be working though, isn't it?"

"I just, I fell asleep."

"Oh?"

Santana rolled her eyes as she explained, "I had some wine, and, well, you know…"

Brittany grinned. "Yes, I understand."

"And you? It's kind of late to be checking out your new place?"

"I'm not too keen on showing my face at places where I could be photographed, you know?" She winked.

"Yeah, of course."

"Well, Santana? I can call you Santana, right?"

"Yes, definitely!"

"You know this place better than me, _Santana_." The name dripped off Brittany's tongue. It made Santana shudder. "Are there any beds ready?"

"Um, yes, there's actually one in the first guest room. The others arrive in a few days."

"Hm." Brittany looked disappointed. Then she said, "Well, it's late, and there's a perfectly good bed waiting for you in the guest room, Santana."

"Oh, thank you. But what about you, Dr. Pierce?"

"Brittany."

Santana smiled. "Brittany."

"I'll find something. No worries. Now please, make yourself at home."

Santana stayed at her spot, still unsure.

"Good night, Santana," Brittany said with a firm smile.

* * *

She wasn't having one. A good night. Santana rolled to one side then to the other. She put the pillow over her head then hugged it in fetal position. She pulled the sheets up to her chin then kicked them off the bed. While normally she would attribute this sleeplessness to a new bed, Santana knew there was something more in this particular occasion.

That something being a crazy rich, crazy beautiful, crazy adorable woman without a bed to sleep in tonight. Santana sighed once more and finally slid out of the bed. She wrapped her scarf around her shoulders and set out to look for Brittany. Considering the size of the house, this could take some time.

When Santana found her, Brittany was cuddled up on a tiny couch in the living room with a throw over her body. Guess it wasn't only Santana who found it cold tonight.

"Hey," Santana whispered when she was just a foot or two away. "Brittany?"

Brittany rolled over and opened one eye. "Yeah?"

Santana smiled. Brittany's tousled hair was the perfect combination of cute and fucking sexy. "I feel bad leaving you here on the couch."

"I'm fine," Brittany said. She sat up and straightened out her shirt.

"I just—this is your house, you know. Please take the guest room."

"No, no, no. You're my guest, so you take the guest room."

"I can't fall asleep knowing you're cramped on this tiny couch."

"Aw. But don't worry about me. I've had worse."

"Still. Please, Brittany."

"Santana, we're not arguing about this anymore. Go back to your bed!"

"What about this? We can share the bed."

Brittany seemed to ponder the idea for a moment, but she shook her head again. "The bed's tiny, Santana. Seriously, I'm fine."

"Brittany…"

Brittany waved her hands to shoo Santana away. "Good night, Santana."

"All right," Santana sighed. She turned to go but stopped after a few steps. She raised an eyebrow at Brittany, a good-natured grin on her face. "What if I told you I couldn't sleep alone?"

* * *

"So…you were right." Santana stared up at the ceiling. Her arms were tucked tightly into her body. "This bed is pretty tiny."

Brittany laughed. "Yep."

"I hope this isn't weird for you. I kind of made you sleep here with me, didn't I? Oh, God, this is so inappropriate now that I think about it."

"Relax, Santana. You're fine."

"All right, if you say so," Santana muttered.

"Is this helping you fall asleep at all?"

"No, not really."

"I thought you couldn't sleep alone."

"Yeah, but I don't usually have people like you sharing a bed with me."

"People like me?" Brittany turned her head to face Santana. She seemed offended.

"I don't mean it in a bad way! I mean, you're very important and really pretty, and it's just kind of overwhelming."

Brittany chuckled. "To be honest, I'm a little uncomfortable, too."

"Seriously? I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here anyway." Santana threw the blanket off her body and was halfway out of the bed.

But Brittany caught her wrist. "I mean, you're smoking hot, and it's kind of overwhelming for me, too."

Santana blushed. Then she coughed, trying to hide her speechlessness.

"Can I ask you a question? You have to give me an honest answer though."

"Um, sure."

"Would it be completely inappropriate for me to, say, kiss you right now?"

Santana's heartbeat sped up about 3,000 times. She noticed Brittany still had her wrist in her hands, and Brittany's eyes had all of a sudden switched from sweet to full-on smoldering.

"It's totally fine if you think we shouldn't," Brittany added. "I just thought, well, I just wanted to." Brittany gave her a guilty childlike grin.

When Santana finally found her voice, she said, "Uh, no, not…inappropriate at all."

"Awesome." Brittany tugged at Santana's wrist, and the next thing Santana knew, she had landed on the bed with Brittany's legs at either side of her hips, and Jesus Christ, Brittany's lips were soft.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Divided this last section into two short chapters.

* * *

"I don't even kiss people on first dates," Santana mused.

"Really?" Brittany wrinkled her nose.

"Yes, really." Santana turned to her side and noticed Brittany's confused face. "What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know. I just thought you'd be more of a first date kiss kind of girl."

"Are you saying I'm easy?"

"No! Not at all." Brittany shifted to her side and shuffled closer to Santana on the bed. "You just have that sexy Latina thing going on. You look very…passionate," Brittany said, grinning.

Santana snorted.

"But I like this better," Brittany added.

"Which is?"

"No-kisses-on-a-first-date Santana."

"Except you didn't even take me on a date, and we've already kissed."

"I'm special." Brittany winked, bringing a smile to Santana's face. Then, in a smaller voice, Brittany asked, "Can I get another kiss before we go to sleep?"

Santana nodded timidly before she leaned in and kissed Brittany again.

"Score," Brittany whispered against her lips.

* * *

When Santana woke up the next morning, she was sprawled across the entire bed. She looked from side to side, but no Brittany was in sight. Groggily, she sat up and heard a crunch. From underneath her butt, she pulled out a note.

_Good morning. You have cute snores, did you know? Anyway, you're too adorable of a sleeper. Couldn't bear to wake you up. See you tonight? –B._

Even though she wished Brittany had stayed, she was already excited about tonight.

* * *

Three weeks had never passed so quickly yet so wonderfully. As the project came to a close, Santana was sadder than happy. She was happy to see things coming together, but what now? From the night she met Brittany, they had made sure to see each other every night since. It was all a secret, of course. Brittany still wasn't too excited about revealing her identity.

Santana understood. Of course she did.

But sometimes, it just…hurt to be part of a secret. Sometimes, she just thought she deserved more.

During their last night together, they kissed, and they made love, even though they hadn't actually said that word to one another. Three weeks was a rather short time to be making declarations of love.

When Santana woke up the next morning, Brittany was gone as per usual, taking a little piece of Santana with her without either of them even knowing it.

Santana went to work that day restless. And Rachel Berry did not help. As they strolled through the mansion, checking the very last details, Rachel spent most of her time relaying the newest gossip she had on "Dr. Pierce" to Santana while Santana gazed longingly at every bed, table, rug, sofa—any surface, really—she and Brittany had done less than decent things on.

"So I heard that Dr. Pierce is really the president using a pseudonym. He probably didn't want to get shit for spending so much on this mansion or something."

Santana glared at Rachel. "How many of these theories can you come up with?"

"I don't come up with them, Santana. These things have real sources."

"Oh, God."

"I also heard that Dr. Pierce is in the mob."

"Rachel!"

Rachel shrugged. "Do you think we'd meet Dr. Pierce today, after everything's officially done?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Me, too. I wonder if he's going to be ridiculously handsome. Or maybe Dr. Pierce is a woman, and she's—"

"Ridiculously beautiful?" Santana ticked the final item off her notebook. "Maybe."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm kind of bummed out we didn't end up seeing Dr. Pierce," Rachel whispered into Santana's ear.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Stop talking, Rachel."

Quinn looked up from her cellphone at the mention of her client's name.

Rachel smiled back at her. "Thanks for taking us to the airport, by the way."

"Of course." Quinn was back at tapping out an email again.

* * *

Three weeks felt too short. They were already at the airport, and Santana couldn't stop thinking about Brittany. She needed to get a grip on herself. She had had plenty of flings in her life, especially while on vacation, and Brittany should be no exception. Clearly, that was how Brittany regarded the situation. She had been MIA since the night before, and there were no texts or calls from her either.

Santana didn't blame Brittany though. They never talked about the situation, so she couldn't expect Brittany to take whatever they had as seriously as Santana did. It was just something about this woman and all the times they spent together that left Santana's heart wanting.

Quinn went into the airport with them. Rachel would not stop talking to her, and Quinn looked like she wanted to die inside, but she put on a professional smile anyway. Santana almost felt bad for her, but then she remembered she had to deal with this madness every day, and all her sympathy disappeared. She left the two alone as she walked up to the monitors displaying all the check-in counter numbers. Santana sighed.

"Would it be inappropriate if I asked you to, say, stay?"

Santana jumped, surprised by the sudden voice. "My God, Brittany!" she said, with a hand still over her thumping heart.

"Hi, lovely."

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." Brittany gazed down at her feet. "I'm sorry," she said after a beat.

"Sorry about what?" Santana was still in shock.

"About being a jerk."

"What?"

"About not texting, not calling, giving you no explanations. I'm always so worried about people being obsessed with me, and I just realized, I'm the one most obsessed with myself. I'm sorry I've been so selfish. You really deserve way more than me, but, if you'd still have me, please stay."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say yes, of course. But I need to warn you, I bought a ticket just in case." Brittany pulled a plane ticket out of her purse. "One-way to New York."

"Wow, you really had this thought out."

"Sort of." Brittany winked, with a half-smile on her lips.

"Santana! What's taking you so long?" As Rachel neared them, she slowed down, sending Santana a questioning gaze. "And who's this?"

"This is, um, a friend of mine." Santana looked at Brittany unsurely. She didn't know if Brittany was ready to announce who she was yet.

Brittany lifted her arm. "I'm Brittany. Nice to meet you."

Rachel shook her hand, still confused about Brittany's sudden appearance. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Rachel."

"So I've heard."

"How do you know Santana?"

"Well—"

Quinn had approached them as well, despite her new fear of Rachel. "Dr. Pierce," she said with a nod, "you made it."

"Dr. Pierce?" Rachel said, louder than necessary. "Where?"

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose. Rachel looked way too excited.

But Brittany laughed it off and gave Quinn a quick hug. "Hi, Quinn."

Rachel's eyes widened, as if they weren't already about to explode. "_You're_ Dr. Pierce?"

"All right, Rachel! Time to back off." Santana pulled Brittany aside, leaving Quinn to answer all of Rachel's questions.

"Sorry about that. Rachel's a little crazy."

Brittany shook her head. "You're fine."

They looked at each other for several more moments. Finally, Brittany said, "Well, you still haven't given me an answer. That's not a good sign."

"I have an answer."

"You do?"

"Uh huh."

"And?"

Instead of answering, Santana stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips onto Brittany's. Brittany stumbled a few steps backward, but she held Santana's arms and passionately kissed her back.

"AND THEY'RE HOOKING UP?" Santana heard Rachel's obnoxious voice yell.

They both laughed into the kiss, neither letting go.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
